


hold on tight to your darkened key

by owlvsdove



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Gen, Post-Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-25 01:20:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2603330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlvsdove/pseuds/owlvsdove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coulson and May help Jemma prepare for going undercover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hold on tight to your darkened key

 

Jemma seeks him out a month after their—he doesn’t want to call it an accident. Because it wasn’t. Their _trauma_. A month after. She manages to catch him during a short pit stop between flights between recruitment trips. Coulson’s moving around the whole time while she’s stammering, but then she says it. So he sits.

“I heard you telling May you needed someone on the inside,” she says when he’s settled silently into a chair. He watches her carefully. “I’m a good fit for this.”

“How did you hear that, exactly?”

“Eavesdropping.”

He nearly snorts, he nearly smiles. Jemma’s growing into something a little more rebellious. He doesn’t want to say it suits her, because he worries. But it does suit her.

“Do I need to remind you that you’re a terrible liar, Simmons?”

“It won’t matter if I start off small, as a lab assistant. Lots of ex-SHIELD agents are joining HYDRA; I can slip into their ranks without a problem.” She’s practiced these answers. She’s very straightforward. She’s thought about this a lot.

“You’re eager to leave.”

He’s not accusing her. First of all, he doesn’t have the stomach. Not for her, at least. And secondly, because he knows Jemma Simmons loved SHIELD nearly as much as he did.

“I’m not,” she says. “I just think this is something I could do. Something useful for the team.”

He gives her a long look. “And what about—”

She cuts him off, anticipating. “I’m certain no one will—”

“ _Simmons_.”

She takes a deep breath. “I’ll tell him I’m visiting my parents.”

“That’s what you’ll need to tell everyone.”

Another lie she’ll have to make believable. He’ll back her up, though.

She nods. “Fine."

“Is he…” Coulson struggles for a moment. He feels the shame of his absence. “Is his progress going to suffer if you leave?”

She goes stiff, holding herself very carefully. “Quite the opposite. He’ll be much better after I’m gone.”

Something breaks in him. “Do you really believe that?”

Jemma’s surprisingly adept at fighting off tears.

He knows she’s had a lot of practice, though. He knows.

“Yes.”

He sighs, leans back in his chair. They sit in silence for a moment.

“May’s going to be pretty upset that you’re leaving.”

“We already talked about it.” He should’ve figured. Coulson knows better than to knock on May’s door after it’s closed for the night. Even more so now that he also knows that’s when she and Jemma sometimes hole up to talk.

“She’ll need to—”

“Train me, yeah.”

He sighs again. “I’ll start looking into it, making arrangements.”

She nods, thinking hard. Preparing herself for battle already, it seems. “How long…when do you think—?”

“A few weeks,” he says.

She nods some more.

“Thank you, sir.”

She stands to leave.

“Jemma,” he stops her. “Are you certain?”

“I can do this.”

Oh, god. She’s so young.

“I know you can.”

She shuts the door softly.

He cancels his next flight.

 

 

 

 

“So you said yes, then.”

He didn’t hear May come in, although that’s hardly surprising. He turns.

“How could I say no?” he asks tightly.

May swallows. “She’s not prepared for this.”

“You’ll prepare her. I told her a few weeks.”

“Our espionage training was six months. For the basics.”

“She’s determined. You know how she gets. She has the idea and she won’t let it go until she sees it through. She always pulls through.”

“That’s not certain enough,” May says through her teeth.

“I’m worried too,” he says.

She sighs.

He continues: “She has a solid cover story. She has the skills not only to work in their science division, but to completely understand their high-level projects. And she wants this.”

“I don’t know how much she actually wants this,” and she does the May version of scoffing.

“She thinks she wants this,” he corrects. She says nothing, so he speaks again. “Is this going to be a problem for you?”

May grits her teeth. “I picked them, Phil. I picked her for this team. And now she’s pushing far past the limits of what she was brought here to do.”

“The nature of the job has changed.”

“ _Too_ much.”

“Not too much for you. Not too much for Skye or Trip,” he reasons.

“It has changed too much for Simmons.”

“Because you have a soft spot for her?”

He may have overstepped here. He tries to be careful with Melinda without being _too_ careful, and it’s a fine balance he doesn’t always keep.

“I _chose_ her.” She’s near a whisper.

He steps closer. “So _arm her_.”

 

 

 

 

“This is yours,” May is telling her as he comes down the stairs. “It’s registered in your name.”

“Ugh,” Jemma says, grimacing as she takes the pistol out of her hand. May almost smiles.

“Last time I saw you holding a gun, you almost shot us with it,” he says. Both women look up.

“To be fair, I was waking up from an ICER grenade.”

That _was_ fair. Melinda stiffens next to her, and he pauses. Jemma’s always been doing this. The more he thinks about it, the more he realizes. She’s always been reaching past the confines of her abilities. She’s always been putting herself in danger. That’s troubling. But not surprising, really.

“I assume you’ve worked on it, now?”

She grins. He hasn’t seen her this excited in a while. “Want to see?”

He nods, trying to be encouraging.

Jemma, unsurprisingly, has adopted perfect form. She is focused. She’s quite good. Three quick shots in the center of the target. She turns, triumphant, and May nods supportively, although he can tell it’s somewhat false.

“Good,” he says. “I hope you’ll never have to use it.”

She takes a deep breath, sobering. “Me too.”

 

 

 

 

It’s not difficult to get Jemma’s CV in their stack. Coulson wishes a little bit that it was more difficult, that HYDRA wasn’t soaking up people like a sponge.

He spoofs her phone interview to look like it’s coming from her parents’ country home, which, admittedly, looks like quite a nice place to grow up. At least on Google Maps. And she does brilliantly, although that’s hardly surprising. The first few minutes are rough with nerves, but Jemma’s skill always shines through when she talks.

It’s not a sure thing yet. But he’s sure enough. This is really happening. She's really going.

She is nearly gone.

 

 

 

 

He could hire someone to do this. That would be the practical thing. But.

He’s standing in a blank apartment in Delaware. It’s bleak.

Well, he supposes it’s not bleaker than having the world think you’re a terrorist, or having to live off the grid, or having your identity burned to ash.

Actually, on second thought, this is kind of peaceful.

Still, it’s very blank.

The apartment is small but nice. It’s already furnished, and tastefully, he might add. But it’s missing something.

Which is why he’s rolling up his sleeves.

This is his last ditch effort at giving her something good. A safe place to come home to at night. A safe place.

The color is light and pleasant. He doesn’t know her tastes, not really. Not as well as some of the others. But this is important to him.

It takes all night, and by the end of it he is streaked yellow. But now her safe place is as cheerful as they all once were, sitting on the cargo ramp drinking beer as they launched something into space. As warm as the low light under which she smoked them all at Scrabble. As careful as he was when he scolded her for doing something reckless. As bold as she was when she pressed on for answers despite his warnings.

It is everything.

He cleans up his mess, leaving cool, even lines as he pulls the painter’s tape away. He washes his hands. He leaves a note.

He leaves it frozen for her until it’s time.

 

 

 

 

“Are you sure you have everything?”

He’s fussing. He knows he’s fussing.

“Unless you can give me six months more training in the space of two minutes?” she says.

He passes a look to May. It wasn’t really necessary to tell her that.

“You’re going to be great,” he says. And then he keeps talking: “You memorized all the protocols. You know how to get in touch with us. You have your own gun. You are smart and capable. You have survived this long, and I am certain you will continue surviving. Jemma Simmons doesn’t quit.”

She looks fairly taken aback. He understands that. That was a lot to say at once.

She hesitates for a moment. “Sir, historically we haven’t always gotten along very well.”

He smiles, waiting for her to continue. “As you can imagine, this is atypical for me. I’m usually very well-liked by my supervisors.”

“I can indeed imagine.” He’s mocking her a little bit. She knows this.

“And in the time that we’ve known each other I’ve expressed some dissent with some of your orders, which, I assure you, surprises no one more than me.”

He waits.

“I just want you to know: I’m not running away from you. SHIELD is my home. Do you understand?”

A declaration of her faith in him. Faith, from the scientist. Who has good reason to leave and would be smart to do so.

“I understand,” he says tightly.

She gives him a half-smile. Then she turns to May.

This is going to be infinitely more difficult.

May’s mother was a trailblazer. A wind-whipped force. Melinda had been an accident treated as a fiercely-loved challenge. She has always been the child of a legacy, a child going off to war. No one has followed in her footsteps. She is young in that way.

She has never had to send a daughter into battle before.

Until now.

May slips Jemma's bag over the girl's shoulder, straightens her jacket, smooths out the wrinkles. She’s not looking at Jemma’s face. This is bad. Melinda May does not delay pain, she deals with it. But this is different somehow.

May pauses for a long moment. “Are you sure you have everything?”

“I already asked that,” Coulson says.

She shoots him a glare.

“I'm as sure as I can be,” Jemma says.

May nods. May nods more than she usually does. “Good luck.”

Jemma nods. Tears are floating up. She seems to crumple a little, and May's hand goes to her hair to guide the girl's head to her shoulder. To cradle her.

She is feeling a million different things. She is excited, shamefully. But mostly she is solemn. She is nervous. She is intrigued. She is heartbroken. Separation anxiety is cruel but she must withstand it.

Coulson feels the need to look away.

It doesn't take long for them to break apart.

“You can do this,” May says softly. She's not talking about HYDRA. She's not. She's talking about something entirely more destructive.

Jemma nods. She takes a few deep breaths, meets each set of eyes once more, and then she is gone.

 

 

 

 

Sixteen hours later, Jemma makes it to the apartment. Her apartment. There is a note stuck to the wall with painter's tape by the door.

_It had to be yellow. Sunny and bright, like you._

She locks the deadbolt. She slides down to the floor. She cries. And it feels good.

 


End file.
